The Beauty of a Beast
by trust-me-im-a-shadowhunter
Summary: A series of one-shots ranging from Belle's time with the Beast to her future marriage with Adam. Yes, it's Disney. I know.
1. Chapter 1 - What's in a Name?

**What's in a Name?**

It had been three weeks since he'd first shown Belle the library, and since then she'd devoured the rest of her favourite novel (which the Beast happened to have a gorgeously illustrated second edition of), sobbed late into the night over the sequel she hasn't known existed, climbed roughly twenty shelves to find a suitably challenging English novel (it ended up with Belle looking up every fourth word in a blue and gold-bound dictionary; she was woefully out of practice but finished it in two weeks) and now, finding another Shakespeare play to read. When Belle first discovered the bookshop in the village, Monsieur Donmarché, the owner, had sent her off with a tattered copy of Macbeth and roughly told her to read it all the way through before borrowing anything else from his shop. Two days later, much to his surprise, a weeping Belle came in clutching the volume to her chest like it was her child, while managing to sob out the words, "Why did he /do/ all those terrible things, Monsieur?"

Much surprised, he asked her, "Who, Macbeth?"

"No, Monsieur," the girl replied through a sob. "Monsieur Shakespeare. Why does he make us cry for such an awful man?"

They were firm friends from that day forth.

Now, Belle found herself confronted with all 37 plays, obviously acquired in some sort of collection - the bindings were all a deep red colour, almost purple, with the titles and some decorative leafs embossed in a glittering gold colour on the spine. Directly above and below them were the plays in English and, oddly enough, Italian; the one in blue and silver, the other in green and gold. Gently dragging the pads of her fingers along the French collection, she marvelled not only in the wonders of the written words within, but the beauty of their casing. She shut her eyes, unable to decide on one from their own merit, and poked one of them in the spine with her index finger.

Opening her eyes, Belle saw fate had picked Romeo and Juliet as the play to read. She grinned quite suddenly, knowing that whatever kind of story this turned out to be, the Bard wouldn't let her down. She slid it out with a little effort, and blew the dust off the cover. That was the other thing she'd noticed about the library; all the books, though in pristine condition, looked like they hasn't been touched in about ten years. She had little doubt that someday the Beast would tell her the reason behind the strange mysteries he surrounded himself with, but for now Belle just enjoyed herself in this paradise he had given her.

Clambering quickly down the wooden ladder she was currently perched upon, Belle picked up her skirts and half-skipped across to the little settee closest to her and one of the fires. She quickly settled herself on it, spreading out her deep, pansy-purple dress around her and letting the heat of the fire melt her frozen fingers (the bookshelves were many things, but warm was not one of them). Glancing out the window, she saw snow falling unhurriedly through the diamond-shaped panes that already were being embraced by frost. The dark trees of the forest beyond provided a strict monochrome contrast that would please any budding artist. But Belle was already flipping through the first few pages, stopping with a slight gasp at the title, 'The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet'.

It was then that the Beast popped his head shyly around the door. Almost reflexly, his blue eyes softened and his face relaxed when he caught sight of Belle. If he had been human, he would have smiled faintly; as it was, he appeared to minutely bare his teeth. If she had looked up, Belle would have known by now that this was the closest the mysterious 'man' came to a smile. She was too engrossed, however, in trying to get past the endless lists of characters and lists of Shakespeare's other works and start the story.

The Beast cleared his throat.

Almost immediately, Belle turned to look at him. He thanked God she no longer feared him as she had, but the Beast knew he was a long way off becoming her friend.

"Are you finished the English book already!?" He remembered briefly, as if from long ago, his black haired, brown eyed brother attempting to teach him English from that very book, in this very room. Eventually Charming had given up in exasperation, muttering insults about his little brother's intelligence under his breath.

"Yes - I was rather out of practise, though, I had to stop and look at the dictionary every three sentences!" She was smiling; ruefully? With humour? He didn't know, but he knew he wanted to find out. In return, he lifted his lips above his canines, and Belle seemed to understand perfectly that he was smiling.

"So, uh, what are you reading now?" He could tell it was Shakespeare from the binding; it had been a birthday present from the King when he was ten. By then the Beast (why does he do that? He KNOWS he has a name - why can't he remember it?) hadn't seen his father for 6 years. He was gifted the English and Italian versions for the following Christmas and eleventh birthday; his last birthday as a human.

"Romeo and Juliet."

Lost in thought, it took the Beast longer than usual to remember the conversation he'd been having. When he did recall everything, he glanced up at Belle, wondering how she would react if he asked her -

"Would you - mind - uh - reading aloud?" Inwardly he cursed himself for such awkward language, but it had been nearly a decade since he had asked for anything, and he had a strange feeling that if he heard the story, he would know how to break the spell. Looking at Belle's blank look, panic overwhelmed him.

"You know - never mind, it - it doesn't matter -"

"Beast."

He looked at her again. She was smiling, but he knew now it was a gentle smile, one that rebuked him for his stupidity.

"Sit by the fire, I'd be glad to read aloud."

More aware than ever before of his animalistic body, he curled up beside the fire like he had seen Pojo the kitchen dog do when he was little. He turned his face towards her, drinking in the sheer - not beauty, that was too obvious - the - the /musicality/ she exuded.

"Two households, both alike in dignity..."

Quietly, like a half-remembered lullaby, a name slipped into the Beast's mind that claimed him for its own.

Adam.


	2. Chapter 2 - Bad Memories

**Bad Memories**

That dress did not have good memories attached to it.

When Belle came down for breakfast that morning in her old blue dress and white apron, the Beast - no, no, Adam, his name is ADAM - nearly had a heart attack. He couldn't help feeling petrified that Belle was going to beg him to leave, or worse, run away regardless; the last time she'd worn that dress was when Lumière had to convince Adam to go after her in the middle of a blizzard. He'd ended up with a severe clawing on his left arm, but he couldn't say he regretted the experience - he had a funny feeling that that was the moment he really started to fall for Belle.

But now she was in that dress again, and panic filled his eyes and his heart.

"Belle - are you alright?"

She was already sitting down at the table and pouring herself some tea before she realised he had spoken to her. Her dark eyes, normally sharp and quick, seemed slightly vacant, and her movements were a lot slower today than they usually were. She glanced down at her dress and gave a little start; obviously she'd grabbed the first familiar thing she saw.

"I guess not," she croaked. "I couldn't sleep for ages last night, and my head hurts quite a bit now." She frowned (quite adorably, Adam thought privately). He knew Belle hated being ill, but there was nothing to do now but make the best of a bad situation.

"Belle, you're not right. After breakfast, I'll ask Mrs. Potts to build up a fire in your room -"

"Oh, no, Beast - I couldn't stay there much longer."

Now it was Adam's turn to frown. Did she not like the room? Did she mean the castle?

"Please, don't misinterpret me - I love the room, but it's just so - so cold there, even with the fire that I just can't -"

"Belle." She stopped abruptly at the state of worry on the Beast's face. "That room is very warm - I know for a fact, I used to stay there when I was younger before this place was sold. I really think you're ill, Belle. Come on, there's a smaller room along here with a fireplace you can stay."

They walked the short distance, Belle collapsing fully dressed on a green velvet settee and closing her eyes. The warm light of the fire flickered gently over her face, highlighting the hints of copper lingering in her hair and casting a soft yellow glow around her. Adam looked down at Belle, his eyes filled with love, and he probably would have stayed like that indefinitely if he hadn't noticed her shivering.

Adam grabbed the first blanket he saw, not recognising it until the navy blue wool was securely laid over a now-sleeping Belle. If he hadn't recognised it from the colour, the smell of it would've gifted his mind with a memory, long, long distant.

He was three, maybe four, and he was in this room, this castle, even, with his mother. He had been very cold that day; Charming had insisted on a snowball fight, and despite the freezing slush and gloveless hands, Adam had won. His mother sat beside him, his head in her lap: Charming was asleep on the settee behind them: the King sat off to one side, a book about hunting (the only kind he ever read) clasped between his hands.

As suddenly as the scene in his head had appeared, it faded away. His ears flopped down, and Adam stretched out before the fire, keeping an eye on Belle in case she woke up in confusion. He mused a couple of minutes more on his mother, whom he barely remembered: his mother, the few portraits he had showing her flaming hair and bright green eyes, who taught him how to read and passed along her quick temper: his mother, for whom the castle had been built, who had been friends with Mrs Potts since they were young: his mother, who had died when Adam was four giving birth to a little girl, who also died two weeks later.

Heavy-hearted, he turned his head back to look at Belle. Belle, who was funny without realising, who was smarter than him in ways he somehow didn't mind, who wore his mothers dresses and read in her library, and was so completely herself that in no way did she seem to be a ghost. In that moment, lying on the floor next to a calm, crackling fire, Adam admitted to himself the truth that he had been scared to admit to himself for so long. He was completely and utterly in love with Belle. And what was more, he almost - almost - didn't care about the curse and what it had done to him, because it had led him to her.

Suddenly, Belle let out a cry in her sleep. Quick as lightening, Adam was up and next to her, keeping a safe distance in case the nightmare was about him. She tossed and turned on the settee, and he could see her eyes moving frantically under her lids. Adam reached out to touch her shoulder, to gently wake her up; but before he could, her eyes flew open, she screamed "Mama!" and fell off the settee with a bump.

She curled up into a little ball, shaking and crying quietly. Adam awkwardly sat next to her, and she leaned into him, inhaling his comforting animal scent, grabbing onto his torn shirt. He gently stroked her back, trying to make sure he didn't rip her skin with his sharpened claws.

After a while, Belle spoke.

"My mother died when I was seven." She glanced up at Adam. He continued to keep his paw on her back. Gathering her strength, she continued.

"We didn't live here - Papa has always moved around a lot, and we came to the village down there when I was fourteen. But we were a lot closer to where the Army was based back then.

"Mama and Papa were so very, very happy when I was younger. The townspeople once said that they were too happy to last very long. That was true of my Mama, anyway. She was very pretty - she had lovely light brown hair, very curly, and these bright blue eyes that Papa always said he fell in love with first. And then she would laugh and say she fell in love with his hands.

"Anyway," Belle muttered, "it was the day before my eighth birthday, and Mama was out looking for a book to give me - she knew me well. A fight broke out in a pub on the same street as her, and when it spilled onto the road..."

Belle took in a series of short, desperate gasps.

"Belle," Adam said, "you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"When it spilled onto the road," Belle continued with renewed vigour, "one of the soldiers shot into the street, trying to hit his opponent. Instead, he hit my mother."

Animalistic body be damned, Adam tried to embrace Belle, show her she wasn't alone in mourning the death of a beloved mother who died too young. She cried into his chest for what seemed like days, but in reality couldn't have been more than five minutes. When Adam couldn't hear or feel her body shaking with sobs anymore, he looked down to see she'd fallen asleep in his arms. And somehow, that made him love her even more.

When Mrs Potts came bouncing into the room half and hour later with some soup, she saw her master and Belle both sound asleep in front of the dying fire.


	3. Chapter 3 - In the Bleak Midwinter

**In the Bleak Midwinter**

"In the bleak midwinter...frosty wind made moan..."

Tiptoeing along to the library late at night, Belle was surprised to hear the gloomy hymn pouring out of a music room in the Beast's unmistakeable deep bass voice. She paused behind the wooden door, listening to the deep rumbles of the Beast and the slow tickings of a metronome.

It was late at night, and for the second time in two weeks she'd had a nightmare about the awful moment when her mother died. Belle had actually screamed waking up this time, and frightened despite knowing that it was an accident and she was miles away from any guns, she had slipped out her room barefoot, in a white nightie and tangled, unbrushed hair, and began to make her way to the library. It had become her sanctuary, in a way. When she was especially homesick, or the Beast had lost his temper again, or, like tonight, she was upset, Belle increasingly found herself going up there and reading in front of the ever-lit fire until the sun came up. The first few times she came down yawning Mrs. Potts had asked what Belle had been doing that night, but by now the servants accepted it as part of a routine, and even gave her hot chocolate at bedtime the following evening.

"Earth...was hard as..."

She pricked her ears up, wondering why the Beast was singing a Christmas carol so late at night.

"IRON!" She could almost see him grinning like a lunatic after recalling the word. Of course, what the Beast called grinning was normally seen as fiercely baring his teeth. Belle knew the difference, though.

"Water like a stone..." He was back to an acceptable volume now, and Belle smiled quietly to herself. It was sweet, she thought, that he was practising Christmas carols at night when no one could hear him; no one, that is, except Belle now. She distantly remembered the author of the song - someone Rosetti, Belle thought.

There was a silence where the next line should have been. The metronome continued clicking, and she heard the Beast sigh.

"I - I just _can't remember_..." she heard him muttering.

He sighed again.

Gathering her courage, getting ready to flee if he caught her, Belle quietly sang from outside the room.

"Snow was falling, snow on snow..." Her mezzo-soprano voice sailed into the room like a little bell, and after a moment, the beast joined in.

"Snow on snow... In the bleak midwinter, long ago."

There was silence. The metronome kept ticking, significantly louder than the grandfather clock Belle remembered inside. She heard the Beast pad slowly towards the door, slightly ajar. She hurried to the other side, closer to the library, suddenly aware that she was in her nightdress and she didn't want the Beast seeing her in it in ways that would normally only apply to /human/ males.

"Belle, if that's you," the Beast began, "th-"

Just then, the grandfather clock rang out, striking midnight. Belle ran along the corridor, the bell chimes muffling her steps, running away from the monster who became merely a Beast who was now dangerously close to becoming merely a man in her eyes. She ran towards the library, where it was safe, because right now she couldn't (and didn't) want to face the idea that even though he wasn't human, there was something infinitely sweet and kind about the Beast practising Christmas carols at night, for a woman who refused to see him as anything other than non-human. She ran because she was afraid, but not of him. She ran because she was afraid of herself.

Adam looked out the door. His improved eyesight meant he could see Belle running along the corridor, away from him. Away from reality.

"Thank you for helping me remember," he whispered.

**A/N: I really don't know what possessed me to start singing Christmas carols in June, but this is the result! I guess we have a little bit of angst now, so yeah. Good times. **

**The link to listen to 'In the Bleak Midwinter is here ( /jwStDK2_qpw). I realise it's an instrumental, but it's the most beautiful version I've ever heard :)**

**Don't forget to review, please!**


	4. Chapter 4 - Les Rêveurs

**Les Rêveurs**

She knew she was asleep the moment she recognised her old room. It was positively minuscule, built into the attic, and had a small mountain of books piled beneath her window. Belle slowly twirled, drinking in every inch of it: the clumsily-made patchwork quilt she'd completed after her mother died: the sloping roof she was slowly but surely outgrowing: the boxy closet that held her other three dresses (one pink, one green, one yellow, all in the same style as her blue dress): the small wooden chest containing the start of Belle's trousseau - she'd never thought she'd see any of it ever again. As she turned around again, she suddenly saw a man standing in the furthest corner from her, half-consumed in shadow. With the strange knowledge common to everyone in a dream, Belle knew that this strange person would do her no harm.

"Hello?"

The man gave a sudden start; his face now fell into the light and Belle could see the high cheekbones, the broken nose, and a pair of intensely blue eyes, half-covered by a mane of red hair. He took a shallow breath.

"Hello." He took a couple of steps forward, and Belle saw he was dressed in a plain white shirt and black trousers. She also saw he was barefoot, like herself, and her lips curved upwards slightly.

"You certainly have a lot of books," the man said, glancing at Belle to see if it was okay before gently picking one up. She recognised the book immediately - it was her mothers copy of some fairy tales. The mysterious man flicked through a few pages, until he chuckled and read the title, "La Belle et La Bête."

"You've heard the story before?" she asked.

"My mother read it to me once, when I was small," he said. "She said that her mother used to read it to her every night, until she had it memorised. And her mother before her, and her mother before her, et cetera." He looked down intensely at the paper, as if trying to get it to divulge its secrets. "She didn't have a daughter, so she read it to me. But only once."

"Did she . . . did she die?" Belle didn't know where her bravery came from - she supposed it was the whole unreality of the dream around her. "Because my mother died too, when I was seven. This was hers."

"Shall we read it?" He looked down at Belle, his blue eyes shining, and she squeezed his hand gently.

"Yes," she smiled. "I think we shall."

He sat on the end of her bed, and Belle perched next to him, his body heat warming her slightly, and, in a light tenor voice, began to read.

The next time she dreamed of the stranger in her bedroom, it was the night after the Beast had saved her from the wolves. Once again, Belle was alone in her room, looking out the window at the same dawn she'd woken up to the day Gaston had proposed, when she heard a knock at the door. She opened it to see the young man who had read to her wearing an anxious look on his face.

"Are you alright?" he asked anxiously, looking into her face and running his hands around her body, as if he was checking she wasn't hurt.

"Yes, Monsieur, I'm fine," Belle smiled reassuringly, pushing his hands away from her, "why wouldn't I be?"

He looked confused for a minute, absent-mindedly rubbing the pads of his thumb against her knuckles, before shaking his head clear of whatever had been bothering him. "I thought - I thought you were in danger - in the woods -"

"That was hours ago, I'm perfectly safe now," Belle interjected. She saw the redhead visibly relax, and he quickly squeezed her fingers before dropping his hands to his sides again.

"Can you remember how far we got with the fairy tale last time?" Belle asked after a short silence. "I think I may have woken up halfway through."

"I'm pretty sure we finished it," the man replied. "Do you have anything else like it?"

"Let me see..." Belle murmured, sifting expertly through her piles of books before picking up a green and gold bound volume. "Aha!" she exclaimed.

"What is it?"

"I was given this a couple of days ago - it's one of my favourite books. Do you mind if I read it?" She looked shyly up at him, brown eyes peeking beneath dark lashes.

"I don't mind at all," the stranger smiled. "What makes it so good?"

"Oh, I don't know, really - far off places, magic spells, daring sword fights, a prince in disguise - what more reason do you need?"

The man chuckled at her enthusiasm, and leaned against the bed in the same position he had taken last time. Belle stood up again and settled herself next to him, the small of her back fitting perfectly into the crook of his arm.

"Chapter One..."

After that, Belle met up with the mysterious man about once a week in her dreams for the next three months. Sometimes they talked; more often they read together. She never asked about his past, and he never asked about hers. But strange things would happen. If she started reading something with the Beast, the man would know all about it in their dreams. And a week or so before that ball with the Beast, Belle and the stranger practised the very dance that was performed mere hours later. Later that night, after she'd seen to her father, before Gaston came knocking on the door to ruin _everything_, Belle walked up to her room.

It was . . . empty. Not of her things. Everything was there - the patchwork quilt, the little closet and wooden chest, even the pile of books beneath the window. Bit still, something seemed . . . missing. She thought of the Beast, then she thought of the man. Belle put two and two together.

Suddenly she heard someone knocking at the front door. She raced down the steps, and opened the door without even looking through the machine.

"Gaston!"

**A/N: YES I KNOW I'M SORRY BUT I'M A LOT LESS PRODUCTIVE IN THE HOLIDAYS**

**Anyway, I got this idea from one of the original stories of Beauty and the Beast, where the Beauty sees the prince in her dreams before the transformation. Hope you liked it!**

**Reviews make me happy!**


	5. Chapter 5 - Such a Pretty Dress

**Such a Pretty Dress**

"Madam Potts, what does this mean?"

The matronly teapot looked up from examining the castle dinner plan for the week to see Belle walk in, a piece of blue paper clasped tightly between her fingers. The long green dress she was wearing (which was now commonly known around the staff as her 'library dress) swished quietly around the girl's feet as she paced along the side of the table, before she placed the note directly in front of the other woman.

In an elegant cursive font that was nearly illegible, the note read:_ 'The master of the Château de Campagne would like to invite the honoured guest, Belle Lecteur, to a private ball in one weeks time. Please find enclosed an RSVP to be given to the housekeeper, Madame Potts'._

Mrs. Potts thought it over for a moment. "Well, it's clear the master would like to spend some more time with you, my dear," she started gently.

"More time? We're good friends - _very_ good friends, in fact. All we DO is spend time together!" Belle still hadn't stopped pacing up and down like a wild animal, and Mrs. Potts, accustomed to dealing with outbursts of temper much worse than Belle could ever produce, framed the next question carefully in her mind.

"Are you frustrated with him, child? Do you want to stop spending time with him?" The young girl stopped.

"No - no, I'm not frustrated with him - I _like_ spending time with him, I just -" she broke off abruptly. Belle took a breath. "I don't want to ruin this friendship. It's important to me - I know this is strange, but I've really never had friends that weren't my parents!"

A short pause followed this outburst, wherein Mrs. Potts filled herself with water and hopped onto the range. One of her children (grandchildren really, but Mrs. Potts was so motherly all the children called her Mama) hopped out the cupboard and, closing her eyes (you could determine gender mainly by eyelashes and mouth shape), pulled out a teabag of lemon and ginger from the store-cupboard. Mrs. Potts began to whistle, and she jumped - no, _leaped_ off the hot surface. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Belle's barely-suppressed grin, and she knew they could have a sensible conversation from then on. The small teacup bounded towards Belle, nearly spilling the contents it carried, and perched beside her hand on the wooden table.

"I never really had other friends my age - they all thought I was . . . odd," Belle continued with a frown of distaste at the old insult. "Maman was my closest friend when I was a child; after she died, Papa tried his best, but he's always been involved in his inventions. I don't mind!" she hurriedly intoned. "I loved his inventions, and when we finally got one to work two months ago, we were both so happy." She absent-mindedly started stirring in some honey, and blew gently on the drink. "I just . . . don't want to ruin what's happened."

"Oh, my dear, I don't think that's likely to happen," Mrs. Potts says soothingly. "You and the master are both too sensible to let anything destroy a friendship as strong as this." The younger woman grinned.

"So what should I tell him?" Mrs. Potts asked, pressing her advantage.

"Tell him I'd love to go to this ball."

* * *

One week later, and Belle was being laced slowly and rhythmically into a corset that looked like it belonged twenty years in the past. Her hair had already been twisted up, and under Madame Armoire's insistence, her cheeks had been slightly rouged. It was very odd, Belle reflected, being laced up by suddenly animate combs and makeup brushes, while a maternal teapot and hysterical wardrobe bustled about trying to find the 'robe de la reine'. With a sigh from one and a squeal from the other, a shimmering dress of indistinct colour was swiftly pulled over Belle's head, and her old blue hair ribbon tied gently around her eyes.

"Not yet, dearie!" she heard Madame Armoire call out. "I don't want you seeing you till you're absolutely _perfect_."

"Really, Madame Armoire, Madame Potts, this is too much," Belle protested weakly.

"Nonsense, dear, you'll look beautiful in this: Armoire's just a perfectionist," she heard the British woman say. They awkwardly shuffled around her, and she thought she heard Mrs. Potts gasp slightly and say, "Oh, doesn't she look a picture of the young queen?"

But then again, she couldn't be sure, because the ribbon was released from her eyes and then she was looking at herself in the prettiest dress she'd ever seen. It was sunshine yellow, a big skirt, with elbow-length gloves to match, and before she could stop herself, Belle twirled in front of the mirror and remembered she was seventeen and never had an evening dress and had only ever danced standing on her fathers feet.

"I - I don't know how to dance," she whispered quietly.

"Don't worry, child," Mrs. Potts replied just as quietly, "just move your feet and the master will lead you."

She decided not to question how a man who had forgotten how to read knew how to dance, or who the 'young queen' was and why Belle was in her dress. She decided, for once, to be seventeen, and at a ball, and to leave it at that.

**A/N: Reviews make me happy :)**


	6. Chapter 6 - A Little Fall of Rain

**A Little Fall of Rain**

The rain pounded down over Belle's head as she spurred Phillipe on as fast as he could go, her father and Chip safely in the wagon. She could hardly see, and the dampness was creeping in beneath her cloak and seeping into her dress. A wild wind from the north swooped in, her hair ribbon plucked seamlessly from her head and sent flying away into the distance. It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting to the Beast.

Suddenly, light. The village men came running around the corner, only holding a few burning torches between them. They were battered, bruised and bleeding, and Belle could have sworn she saw one dressed up in some of the underwear from the depths of Madame Armoire.

"Le Fou!" Belle cried out. The stout little man waddled up to her, looking like he'd been caught on the wrong end of a sword. "Is Gaston with you?"

"N-no, Belle," he stammered heavily, "he's up at the c-castle, trying to find the B-Beast."

"Oh, no," she murmured so quietly that even Belle wasn't sure she'd said anything. "C'mon, Phillipe! Ya!" The bay working horse obediently sped up, and Maurice and Chip struggled to not fall out the little wagon.

"It's crazy up there!" Le Fou shouted back. "Crazy! The teapots - and the - and the candlesticks and the _wardrobe_ - it's _crazy_ Belle!"

"They put up a good fight," she muttered between chattering teeth. She glanced back to the wagon, and saw her father, still in his bedclothes, a large dark green cloak wrapped tightly around him, holding the small chipped cup gently to his chest. The rain beat down harder than ever, and Belle urged Phillipe to ride still faster. As the tall turrets of the castle first appeared between the trees, she pulled her hood up and allowed herself a small sigh of relief.

Lightening jagged across the air, perfectly illuminating her path for one shining moment - the chipping gild and shimmering stone made the castle shine - and Belle vaguely saw a large, animalistic figure crashing through an upper window. A roar of pain echoed across the wide gulf and resonated in her very bones, and a smaller figure leapt agilely out the hole. She couldn't see from here, but if she had to guess, Belle would say the small one was wearing a bright red shirt and had long black hair. She spurred on Phillipe, and they crashed haphazardly through the undergrowth approaching the bridge.

On steady ground once more, Belle finally dared to do what she had feared all along, and looked up. She remembered well the injuries sustained by the wild wolves so many months ago, and, she had to admit, Belle was extremely frightened of what the Beast might do to a human. But what she saw surprised her. The Beast was . . . not fighting back. He wasn't enraged or scared for his life, he was . . . limp. As if he had nothing left to live for.

Belle gasped as Gaston pushed him down to the battlements, a sickening jolt coming from where he hit the hard stone. Gaston stalked forward, confident, cocky, a knife held loosely in his hand. Belle knew that look, that walk. It was the same one he used whenever he thought or knew his prey was nearly dead. She'd seen it addressed to wild hogs, the occasional wolf, and herself.

"No!" she cried. "Gaston, don't!" She couldn't see the Beast die. She just couldn't. The moment between her shout and the Beast's next action seemed to last forever. He turned his head to look down at her, and Belle thought for a short moment that she could see the blue of his eyes and his face as clearly as if she was sitting next to him. She saw his lips speak her name slowly, hesitantly, as if he couldn't believe she'd come back.

Gaston lifted his knife high.

Suddenly, a whirl of movement - the Beast was on his hind legs with his claws pushing Gaston away with all his strength, and either the Beast wasn't as strong as she'd thought or Gaston had ridiculous muscle strength, but it didn't matter because the knife had been thrown away, Belle managed to see before she jumped (well, fell) off Phillipe and raced inside the castle.

Belle pulled her hood off and started off at a run towards the West Wing - she raced up the first grand staircase, then a second, and a third, only stopping at the top to gasp for breath and clutch her side. Desperately, Belle looked left and right trying to find the line of armour on display, before realising that almost every enchanted object in the place had left their post. Taking a wild guess, Belle swung left and then right, where thankfully the forbidden stairs lay.

She ran up, and this time didn't bother stopping even though she was wheezing slightly and the stitch in her side was killing her, just hauled one of the doors open and tripped over a piece of cloth lying on the floor. Getting up, Belle again saw the ruined portrait. She briefly remembered the man from her dreams, before jumping and leaping around the various obstacles in the room. She banged into the rose, and swiftly righted it before she ran out to the balcony.

"Beast!" she cried out again. The rain had gotten heavier since she went into the castle, and it took a second for her to wipe her eyes before she could looked for the Beast. Belle looked to the right, and there he was, clambering over the fancy turrets and slated roofs of the castle. And he was _so happy_. He was smiling - a proper smile, a - a _human_ smile, and his eyes were shining brightly. He reached the balcony in no time, and he immediately clasped her hands with one paw while stroking her hair with the other.

"You came back," he murmured, as if he couldn't believe it.

Suddenly, Gaston appeared out of nowhere from behind the Beast and stabbed him in his side. The Beast roared out in pain, and started to fall backwards, but Belle grabbed his clothes firmly, and oh no oh no he was going to fall off the castle and bring her with him, but then her adrenaline-gifted strength let her pull him over the side and he landed on his back on the cold stone of the balcony. She saw a small pool of blood begin to appear at his side, dark red diluted by the pouring rain.

"You came back," the Beast said with an air of wonder.

"Of course I came back," Belle said, tears choking her throat. "I couldn't let them . . . oh, this is all my fault! If only I'd gotten here sooner . . ."

"Maybe it's better this way," the Beast forced out.

"Don't talk like that! You'll be alright," she said with a false air of confidence. "We're together now. Everything's going to be fine, you'll see!" At this point Belle didn't know if she was trying to reassure the Beast or herself.

"At least I got to see you one . . . last . . . time." The Beast's voice was weak and fading faster. He reached up his paw to touch Belle's face. Belle held it there, her eyes shut, feeling the rough and smooth of his pads, the slight pressure on her temple from his claws, the warm fur on her palms where she was holding it.

Slowly, the paw slid down her face, and the Beast's head lolled backwards to the ground.

"No." Belle dropped the Beast's paw. "No - please - _PLEASE_!" A sob wracked through her body, and Belle's hands flew to her mouth, trying to stifle the sound. Hot tears mingled with the cool rain pouring down her face, and she collapsed onto the Beast's large chest. "Please don't leave me," Belle begged. She remembered Maurice cradling her mother, begging her to come back. She could hear the Beast's heart, fainter and slower than when they had danced. "I love you," she whispered through her tears.

Behind her, the last petal fell.

**A/N: I have one more idea deliberately thought out, and then I will take requests via PM. I'M SORRY FOR THE ANGST**

**Reviews make me happy!**


	7. Chapter 7 - The Transformation

**The Transformation**

It was over. It was all over. He'd been so damn _close_ as well. He'd been _so close_ to freeing Mrs. Potts, Cogsworth, Lumière - and Chip, how could he forget Chip? It wasn't about him anymore, never should have been about stupid, stupid _him_, he thought through the pain. It was because of him that they were in this mess, after all; if only he hadn't been so vain, so spoiled, so utterly selfish and self-adsorbed; if only, he thought, he had been twenty-one instead of eleven. Although who knows what he might have become if she hadn't stepped in ten years ago?

_I'd be that man who just tried to kill me,_ he realised. The man from Belle's village, the one who had belittled her, mocked her, tried to force her to marry him simply because she was beautiful. And now, the Beast was fairly sure, that man was dead.

_Wait_, the Beast thought. _Where is my name? I _had_ a name, after all. I even remembered it..._

And then it didn't matter, because he could see Belle. He felt her small, delicate hand on his chest, he saw her rain-soaked clothes and loose hair - the first time he'd seen it down since she tended the injuries he received from the wolves - and he knew beyond certainty it was true.

"You came back," he whispered.

"Of course I came back!" she exclaimed, almost indignant. "I couldn't let them . . . oh, this is all my fault! If only I'd gotten here sooner . . ." He could see her eyes filling up with tears.

"Maybe it's better this way." It means you can have your adventure, he wanted to say. It means his servants may be released from their enchantment. It means the rumour that his father believed so many years ago can finally come true.

"Don't talk like that!" Belle was definitely indignant now - in fact she even seemed angry for a brief moment. "You'll be alright. We're together now. Everything's going to be fine, you'll see." The lie was blatant, and the Beast wasn't sure if she was trying to convince him or herself.

_I love you_, he wanted to say._ I love you, and you're my greatest friend, and I wish, I wish you could have loved me back so I could hold you close right now and touch your face and your hair and maybe even kiss you_. But he couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to Belle. So he said something that was equally true.

"At least I got to see you . . . one . . . last . . . time . . ." He reached for her face, and she held his over large paw to her cheek. No disgust. No fear.

And then he fainted.

* * *

When he came to, he was surrounded by pain.

His arms were too long for the skin they were in, his claws trying to rip through, until a blaze of fire in both his hands rid the Beast of fur, paws and claws. There was an ache in his arms - from the fight with the man in the red shirt, he supposed. Then his legs started _growing_, the knees extending, the calves thickening up while his thighs slimmed down, and the paw both stretched and shrunk at the same time, until the smaller claws on his feet were destroyed in another blaze of fire. He could feel five fingers, if he counted, five toes, if he concentrated. They ached, oh, the limbs on this body ached, buzzing with a strange kind of energy he didn't recognise, and try as he might he _couldn't open his eyes_, and that made everything a hundred times worse.

And then the worst was happening, the rest of his body was shrinking, his ribcage too small for his giant lungs and heart, the skin too taut for his spine, and oh god oh god this hurt worse than anything that had come before it, and his lungs were shrinking, and he couldn't breathe until his heart was smaller, so much smaller, and his backbone wasn't threatening to pop out the skin of his neck, and then he managed to breathe, to catch a breath, before the fire turned to his face, and in one single burst of agony the heaviness of the Beast was gone, and all that remained was Adam.

The magic lowered Adam to the ground, still wrapped up in his father's dark blue cloak, the softness of his shirt doing nothing to stop the cold of the balcony stone leeching off his body heat. Slowly, Adam managed to push himself up, hair falling into his face, when he realised he had shrunk. His shirt was hanging off his shoulders, his trousers were far too big at the waist and his feet were starting to - wait, _feet_?

He stretched out his hands. He had _hands_ - the spell was broken! He spun around, and saw Belle - really saw her, up close. He had shrunk about 2 feet, but he was still taller than her. He found he didn't really mind. He stepped towards her, and almost imperceptibly she shrunk back.

"Belle," he said, in a voice about three octaves higher than the one he'd used for the last ten years. "It's _me_." She edged closer, reached up and stroked some of his hair between her fingers. He looked down, willing her to recognise him - for crying out loud, she'd clearly _seen_ the transformation, why was she so hesitant!? She looked into his eyes, deep brown meeting light blue.

"It _is_ you!" she cried, joy breaking out across her face. Adam did the bravest thing he'd done this evening, and gently brushed some hair out Belle's face. He smiled widely - good, he remembered how to smile properly - and leaned down to do what he'd wanted for so long. Belle's eyes were already closed, and Adam was struck by just how beautiful and amazing she was.

And then he kissed her.

A wild wind flew across the air, whipping both his and Belle's hair up above them. Her arms wound tightly around his neck; his were absorbed in her waist. The kiss was slow at first, just their lips moving against each other, but then Belle opened her mouth and their tongues danced around each other and they gripped each other even closer, if that was possible. The sun broke out, warm on their skin, and they broke away, grinning like idiots.

Lumière started hopping out, the flames flickering back to life, when suddenly a burst of golden light enveloped him and he was, once again, the tall brown-haired man Adam remembered, even down to the yellow-and-brown outfit he was wearing.

"Lumière!" Adam cried. Cogsworth, the faithful old clock who had once been his fathers trusted advisor over domestic issues, waddled quickly towards the three humans, transforming in a burst of light back to the plump little man with a moustache like clock handles he remembered. "Cogsworth!" He stretched his arms - how wonderful it was to have arms again! - around the two of them, and caught sight of the matronly teapot who had almost become a mother to him shoot up to her lavender-coloured uniform, comfortably stout and maternal. "Oh, Mrs. Potts!" he shouted, beaming for joy, "look at us!" He crushed the three people he'd come to rely on most in the world close to his chest, releasing them all three significantly more rumpled than before.

"Mama, mama!"

They turned to see the little chipped teacup bound in on the smart red-and-velvet footstool, before they too transformed into a bounding little boy with candle-like hair and the large puffy kitchen dog Adam fondly remembered from days long past.

"Oh my goodness!" Mrs. Potts laughed, picking up her son (grandson, really, but nobody minded) while Pojo - the dog - danced around their feet. Adam was bursting with energy; with a smile he leaned into Belle, who was smiling and rejoicing with the rest of them, grabbed her waist tightly and swung her around his head, to her delight and surprise as she shrieked in shock.

"It is a miracle!" he heard Lumière murmur. But Adam didn't care for anyone else at that moment. He was standing up straight, the sun on his back, the woman he loved in his arms, and all he wanted to do was kiss her for saving his life, his soul, his everything.

So he did.

**A/N: Okay, so this is the last fic I had lined up in my head specifically. I'm probably never going to run out of ideas for them, but if you have a prompt or want to request a specific ficlet, just PM me here or go to my tumblr, its-spelled-with-an-a-moron :)**

**Reviews make me happy!**


	8. Chapter 8 - Just Practising

**Just Practising**

"You know, if I don't get up soon I'm going to fall asleep."

Adam turned to look at his fiancée, who was currently fully stretched out on the couch in the library, her head in his lap. Her beautiful brown eyes were covered by the delicate skin of her eyelashes, and the pink of her dress matched the blood in her cheeks from the heat of the fire.

"Well _maybe_ you should get up," he responded in a lightly teasing tone. He laid the book he had been reading aloud for the past half an hour aside, and gently stroked her face with his fingertips. Belle smiled sleepily.

"Well _maybe_ I don't want to," she murmured, pressing herself close to his torso, managing to kiss the loose fabric of his shirt. "I am far too comfortable here for my own good, and it's late, and I've been with Madame Armoire all day nearly trying to figure out this dress I'm supposed to be wearing in two weeks. And you have a surprisingly sonorous voice, too."

"Two weeks, eh! What on earth could you be doing in two weeks that requires such earnest discussion? As for the voice, _mon amour_, well, just practising." He smiled, though she couldn't see it, and lifted her hand up to press a kiss to it.

"Goodness knows what she needs the dress for in so short a time," Belle murmured, playing along. "She might have mentioned something about lots of people being there."

"Lots?"

"Tons. All your family, all sixty-five and-a-half foreign cousins included, Papa, Monsieur Donmarché from the village -"

"Anyone else?" Adam interrupted teasingly.

"Oh, Mrs. Potts, all her children, Lumière, Cogsworth, Fifi -"

"You're _sure_ you're not missing out anyone important?"

Belle chuckled lightly, stroking Adam's cheek. "She might have mentioned a minister."

"And?"

"Oh yes, and the chef in the kitchen!"

"And?"

"And the gardeners."

_"And?"_

Belle opened her eyes slowly, blinking at the sudden change in lighting. "Oh yes," she added, "and I think you're supposed to be there as well, dear."

"I should certainly hope so," Adam smiled. "Can't leave the bride out there in front of everyone waiting for the groom to show up late, can we?"

"It would cause an outright scandal," she mumbled through sleep's heavy onslaught. "'King of France's younger brother keeps bride waiting at the altar', I think that's how I'd phrase it."

"In your diary, or on the front page of the national newspaper, _mon amour_?" Adam asked, only half-teasing.

"Both, my dear," Belle said half-asleep. "Both."

He looked down again. She really had fallen asleep in his lap. He picked up the book again, tried to finish the chapter, and sighed in defeat as Belle snuggled closer into him.

"Carful, love," he muttered as he scooped Belle up in his arms. He may not have had the strength of the Beast anymore, but he was perfectly capable of holding his fiancée's light weight. He slowly edged toward the door, only for Belle to stir near it and wrap her arms around his neck.

"Carrying me over the threshold, already, dear? I think you're a tad early."

He swooped down and kissed her eyelids gently.

"Just practising," he chuckled into her hair.

**A/N: It's surprisingly hard to write a chapter where the only dialogue is song lyrics. I was bored, tired, and not in the mood for history homework. And so you have been blessed with fluffy Belle/Adam because I procrastinate a lot. **

**Reviews make me happy!**


	9. Chapter 9 - Little Town, Quiet Village

**Little Town, Quiet Village**

The October sun shone brightly through the crisp autumn air, having eventually been persuaded to show his face. A small, cold breeze, a precursor of bitter winds to come, flew across the trees and fields surrounding a small village in provincial France as a young girl walked slowly towards the main street.

_Little town, it's a quiet village, _Belle thought. _Everyday like the one before. Little town, full of little people_, she reflected, remembering how she had thought it was a toy village the first time Papa and her saw it from a distance - on top of the hill where their house was, to be precise. _Waking up to say . . ._

"Bonjour!"  
"Bonjour!"  
"Bonjour!  
"Bonjour!"  
"Bonjour!"

Belle managed to stifle a smile. The townspeople using the familiar greeting right on cue every day never failed to amuse her. They seemed like little toys, or a cuckoo clock singing regularly on the hour, every hour. Monsieur DuPont, the baker, waddled out his house holding his tray of goods as tenderly as if it was one of his children.

_There goes the baker, with his tray like always, _she thought, _the same old bread and rolls to sell. Every morning just the same, since the morning that we came to this poor, provincial town-_

"Good morning, Belle!" His voice boomed across the square, and she scurried up to him, a smile on her face.

"Good morning, Monsieur," she curtsied.

"And where are you off to today?" he asked with almost paternal joviality.

"The bookshop!" The enthusiasm gleamed through her eyes, as she continued despite _knowing_ the baker didn't really care. "I just finished the most wonderful story about a beanstalk and an ogre -"

"That's nice," the big man interrupted. Suddenly he yelled "Marie! The baguettes! Hurry up!" Shaking her head, Belle continued to the bookshop.

"Look, there she goes - that girl is strange, no question!"

"Dazed and distracted, can't you tell?"

Belle just gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the old women. They were no longer capable of holding their tongues, and she suspected they didn't know she could hear them. Besides, it wasn't like _their_ opinion mattered.

"Never part of any crowd!" Belle heard Amélie Gillenormande sneer.

"'Cause her head's up on some cloud," her husband the barber joined in.

"No denying she's a funny girl, that Belle," the townsfolk said in unison. Belle schooled her face to one of impassivity. _It's best not to let them know it bothers you,_ she reminded herself for what felt like the billionth time. _Just don't let them see it bother you.._

She hopped on the back of a cart, letting the familiar, never-changing, never-differing streets wash by her. She saw the old, the young, the very, very poor. The fruit-seller - trying (and failing) to hide his mistress from his wife; the poor widow desperately trying to feed her children; the hard-hearted man haggling with her. _There _must_ be more than this provincial life!_ she nearly shouted as she hopped off the cart outside the bookshop.

"Ah! Belle!" Monsieur Donmarché smiled at her over his half-moon glasses, his elderly figure stooped with both age and continually bending over his books.

"Good morning!" Belle smiled back at him, relaxing the poker-straight posture she reserved for the other townspeople. "I've come to return the book I borrowed," she continued, placing it on the counter.

"Finished already?!" She noted his surprise with pride.

"Oh, I couldn't put it down! Have you got anything new?"

"Not since yesterday," he chuckled.

"That's alright," Belle replied, climbing the ladder to find what she was looking for. "I'll take . . . _this one._" She passed it down to the old bookseller.

"_That_ one? But you've read it twice!"

"Well it's my favourite!" she giggled. "Far-off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise!" She fondly stroked the worn binding.

"Well, if you like it all that much it's yours," Monsieur Donmarché said, scribbling in his book of records.

"But sir," Belle gasped. She knew first hand how expensive second-edition copies of that story were.

"I insist!" His eyes twinkled in a grandfatherly light, and Belle knew it was useless to argue with him. And she _did_ really love that book.

"Well, thank you! Thank you very much!" She waved to him, flicked through the pages of copyright and introduction, before seeing the header, 'Chapter One'.

* * *

"I've got my sights set on that one." She didn't even have to look up from her book to recognise Gaston's arrogant voice.

"The inventor's daughter?" LeFou's voice, squeaky since puberty, went even higher in his surprise.

"She's the one. The lucky girl I'm going to marry." Belle didn't even have to look at him to know he had that disgusting smile of his on. _Are you so _unbelievably_ arrogant that you won't even entertain the possibility of my refusal? _Belle wondered.

"But she's -" LeFou started.

"The most beautiful girl in town," Gaston said, a look of lust in his eyes.

"I know -"

"And that makes her the best! And don't I _deserve_ the best?" His voice was dangerously low, and Belle was half-afraid for LeFou, even while screaming at Gaston in her head about her beauty not equalling her worth. _Idiot_, she thought.

"Well of course you do, but I mean . . ."

Belle couldn't be bothered eavesdropping anymore. She slyly swept past Gaston while he eagerly fanned his vanity through the back of a pan and kept on down the road past the Gérard triplets, Celeste, Helêne and Thérese. They were the only other girls - scratch that, _people_ in the village who were also seventeen, and the four of them might have even been friends if the triplets weren't so _obsessed_ with Gaston.

"Look there he goes, isn't he dreamy?" Celeste murmured.

"Monsieur Gaston, _oh he's so cute!"_ Thérese squealed higher than a dog howling.

"Be still my heart, I'm hardly breathing," Helêne panted through a corset far too tight for her.

"He's such a tall, dark, strong and handsome brute!" the three of them yelled in sync, mock fainting - or maybe really fainting, Belle couldn't tell - as Gaston marched past them, looking for - oh no, he was looking for her.

She darted into the massive throng of villagers, slyly elbowing her way through them, catching snatches of conversations as she went.

"Bonjour!"

"Pardon," she heard Gaston mutter.

"Good day!"

"Mais oui!"

"You call this bacon?"

"What lovely grapes!"

"Some cheese!"

"Ten yards!"

"One pound!"

"Excuse me!" Gaston said louder.

"I'll get the knife!"

"Please let me through!" he shouted. Belle walked faster, still pretending to be absorbed in her book.

"This bread!"

"Those fish!"

"It's stale!"

"They smell!"

"Madame's mistaken!"

_There _must_ be more than this provincial life, _Belle nearly screamed.

"Just watch I'm going to make Belle my wife!" Gaston exclaimed.

"Look there she goes a girl who's strange but special," the villagers gossiped in unison. "A most peculiar mademoiselle!" Belle started flushing furiously. It was as if they didn't even care if she heard them by now.

"It's a pity and a sin - she doesn't quite fit in!"

_Maybe if you'd welcomed Papa and I instead of calling us peculiar I'd 'fit in' better, _she thought with uncharacteristic spite.

"But she really is a funny girl -"

"A beauty but a funny girl -" _STOP CALLING ME A BEAUTY, I'M SICK OF IT,_ Belle fumed.

"She really is a funny girl! That Belle!"

**A/N: This is for the guest reviewer who suggested it! I hope EVERYONE APPRECIATES HOW DIFFICULT IT IS TO WRITE A STORY USING RHYMING SONG LYRICS THIS TOOK ME A WEEK**

**Reviews make me happy!**


	10. Chapter 10 - Mon Frére, Mon Ami

**Mon Frére, Mon Ami**

"Ah - master, there is someone here to see you."

Cogsworth popped his head around the library door, catching Adam's attention as he sat hunched over at a desk, reviewing the state of the villages surrounding the castle. The young prince looked up with a smile on his face instead of the snarl the staff had been used to for the last ten years.

"Did they leave a name?"

"No, master, but they said it was urgent."

"Well, by all means," Adam said standing up stiffly, "take me to them - I've been doing this taxation and paperwork for far too long." They emerged from the room, and quickly travelled to the main hall of the castle.

"You're sure they didn't say anything?" Adam asked for the third time as they approached the little waiting room - well, little in terms of the castle.

"Positive, sire," the ex-clock reiterated.

"Very well, then," Adam muttered, and opened the door wide. "Bonjour, Monsieur, and may I ask what brings you -"

A tall man stood facing the door. He had the cream court colours on, and his dark hair was matched only by his eyes. The faint shadow of a beard dusted his cheeks, and although he stood with a posture unenviable, his gloved fingers were shaking. It had been ten years, but Adam would have recognised the man anywhere.

"Charmant," he said, the old childhood nickname coming back as easily as breathing.

"Little brother," the prince said. "I hope I find you well?"

"I don't suppose it matters much to you," Adam spat out, "leaving me here all those years - you and Father both!"

"Now, brother, be reasonable," the older man said with a tone Adam was entirely familiar with. "You didn't really expect us to come here while you were - indisposed, shall we say? We could have been killed!"

"I was CURSED, not insane!" Adam shouted. "I would have recognised you or Father immediately -"

"And would you have attacked us?" Adam's tirade was brought short by his older brother.

"That's not the - you still haven't answered my question."

"What one?"

"What are you doing here?" The Prince's face fell. "Well? Why, after ten years, have you finally decided to grace me with your presence?" Adam could hear his voice getting louder again, and he knew from the look on his brothers face that he wasn't being fair, but dammit he hadn't come to see him _once_ in ten years, not one letter, not one sign that he cared about his spoilt, selfish little brother, and Adam was just so _angry_ at him -

"Papa is dying," Charming said curtly. "He's delusional, demanded to see you. His _dear_ departed son."

The room was frozen by the undisguised malice in Charming's voice. Adam stood stock-still, disbelief and faint horror in his eyes. Yes, he knew that not everything would be the same after the curse was lifted, but he hadn't expected his father to be dying!

"My - my servants will see you have a room for tonight," Adam said, half in a daze. "I'll ride back with you to Paris tomorrow morning."

Charming gave a curt nod. "Very well," he said as Adam left the room. "By the way," he added before his younger brother disappeared, "I think you'll love your nephew."

* * *

"I didn't know you had a brother," Belle said after Adam had finished his account.

"Honestly, I thought he might have died," he replied. "There was a war on, the last time I saw him, and he's only twenty-seven - as far as I was aware he'd gone into the Army."

"Well, I guess you get to be reunited with family again," Belle smiled sadly. "He has a wife and child, you said?"

"The boy is six, apparently. I have to say," Adam sighed, flipping down beside Belle on the little green couch in the library, "I never thought I'd be an uncle."

"It didn't cross your mind that the heir to the throne of France would need to produce an heir of his own?" Belle teased.

"The last time I saw the heir to the throne of France," Adam returned, "I was a spoilt ten-year-old boy suffering from a bout of influenza. I doubt I was thinking about anyone other than myself then." Belle touched his hand, and Adam leaned over to kiss the top of her head. The two of them remained stationary for a moment, before Belle stirred again.

"You didn't say why he came. After ten years, I can hardly imagine he just popped in to say hello."

"My -" Adam started, but his throat suddenly went dry. "My father is dying."

"What?!" Belle exclaimed, spinning around so she faced the young man.

"Yes," he coughed. "He's very old, and out hunting one day he fell into a lake and caught cold, according to my - to Louis."

"I thought you said your brothers name was Charming?" Belle said, confused.

"Charming is just a nickname. His real name is Louis," Adam explained. "But anyway, Father is delusional and wants me to be there - despite the fact he thinks I'm dead."

"He thinks you're _DEAD_?!" Belle squawked.

"I had a very serious bout of influenza - everybody genuinely thought I was going to die!" Adam said, rubbing his ears in mock pain. "I came out here for the 'better air' when I was ten and I've stayed here ever since."

"Well, it doesn't matter what he's done or what you think of him," Belle concluded after a moment. "Your father is ill and this could he the last time you see him, ever. You _have_ to go."

"I know," Adam said, his eyes somber and serious. "I'm leaving with Louis tomorrow morning. Will you be alright here just with the servants?"

"Of course I will," Belle smiled sadly, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "And," she added, just before they had to go to dinner, "I've given some thought to what you said the day after your birthday, and I'll let you know what I've decided when you come back."

"Thank you, _mon amour_," Adam whispered. "I love you," he said louder.

"I love you too."

* * *

Adam didn't come back for a week, and when he did, his heavy black clothing stood out so starkly against the usual sunny materials Belle associated with him that she didn't even know how to tell him what she had decided. She knew that even though he'd hardly seen his father, the man was still very important to him, and the red-rimmed eyes greeting her at breakfast three mornings in a row only confirmed that fact. She knew there was nothing that would have made Adam happier before than hearing she had agreed to be his wife. But for now, she had to leave him to create his own path in the garden of grief, deciding in his mind the line between social mourning and the genuine grief he felt for a parent he barely remembered.

**A/N: I PROMISE ADAM WILL BE HAPPY NEXT CHAPTER. PINKY PROMISE, CROSS MY HEART AND HOPE TO DIE.**

**Feel free to leave a prompt or request for me to write.**

**My tumblr is its-spelled-with-an-a-moron. There are good things there.**

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	11. Chapter 11 - Human Again

**Human Again**

Adam looked out the French windows leading onto the balcony. It was hard to believe that only last night he had been lying there, dying, still a beast, Belle crying over him. He flexed his hand experimentally, and was still surprised when the slender tendons moved in accordance with his brain. He stood up - a little shakily, admittedly - and looked around his private quarters again.

The animal carcasses that had previously littered the room had vanished, and the furniture had been repaired to a state even better than when he had known it. The dark browns and greys that dominated were reverted back to the royal blue and gold he remembered from childhood days long past, and the old portrait of his uncle looked as though Adam - no, he wasn't Adam when he did that, he was the Beast - it looked as though the Beast had never ripped his claws across it in anger. It was rather strange, Adam thought, how right his mother had been when she had said he would look just like Felix when he was older. The red hair, the blue eyes; hell, even their height, from what he could tell from the painting.

Just then, a small knock sounded and Mrs. Potts popped her head around the door.

"Master, Belle would like to see you in the library, if it's convenient," the matronly housekeeper intoned.

"Of course it's convenient," Adam said, wobbling only slightly as he made his way out the West Wing. He paused at the door to smile widely at Mrs. Potts, and the two hugged tightly before he continued at a fast pace to his love.

His haste backfired on him almost immediately, however, when the combination of longer legs than an eleven-year-old and shorter strides than a Beast ended in him tripping on the first step and hanging onto the banister for dear life to stop falling more than halfway down. Adam shot up, cheeks burning, sincerely hoping nobody was there to see him so spectacularly flail in a way unbecoming to even a man, let alone a prince. The rest of the way he went slower than usual, using the banister for the first time in years and hoping he wouldn't be keeping Belle waiting too long. When he did walk into the library, a lot more steady than when he first started, he saw her sitting nervously on the little green sofa she usually did, biting her lip and and clasping her hands tightly.

"Hello," Adam said gently, and her head spun around, her hair flying, the familiar dark brown.

"Hello," she replied, swallowing slightly. She was still in her blue dress, and Adam supposed she hadn't gotten any sleep - it was severely wrinkled, and slight shadows were under her dark eyes.

"I suppose I should explain a little," Adam began, sitting on the complete opposite side of the seat so she wouldn't be crushed by the weight of muscle and fur - and it course so she wouldn't be repulsed by his hideous -

_You're not a beast anymore, _he suddenly remembered. _You don't have to sit so far away, for goodness sake!_ He moved closer to Belle, still leaving a respectful distance, and cleared his throat again.

"When I was eleven," he started, "I was . . . well, to put it plainly, I was a spoiled, selfish, vain brat. One night, an old beggar woman came to the door, seeking shelter from the raging snowstorm in return for a single rose. I turned her away," the prince said, looking down so he didn't have to see the disappointment he knew would be on Belle's face. "She transformed quite suddenly into a powerful enchantress, and placed a curse upon me, so I could learn that true beauty was found within. I had until my 21st birthday to find someone I could love who would love me in return. And . . ." he concluded, "I did." Finally, he dared to look up at Belle, expecting disapproval, shock, horror or all of the above.

She was smiling.

"I - I don't understand," Adam stuttered. "You should be ashamed - or, or repulsed, not - not _smiling!_"

Her smile got bigger, and he could see she was struggling not to laugh.

"Why are you so happy?" he asked, failing to see what Belle was so jubilant about.

"You're not dead," she smiled, scooting closer to him. "You're still you," she continued, reaching up to touch his cheek. "And I love you," she finished, leaning dangerously close to his mouth. "What's not to be happy about?" she murmured, before she kissed him again.

Adam wanted to know why she wasn't bothered by him. He wanted to know why his past didn't horrify her. But he found it awfully hard to remember why he wanted to know when a short, bossy, nosy seventeen-year-old had her fingers in his hair and a hand on his shirt and was kissing him breathless and his hands somehow magically found her small waist without even trying and he was kissing her back. It was awfully hard to remember anything when he was so in love, when he could hold her tight without worrying about hurting her, or worse, frightening her. He ran his hands lightly over her back, and she shivered.

"I'm twenty-one," he gasped when they finally broke apart.

"Happy birthday," she replied, her fingertips _just_ touching the place where the delicate hairs on the nape of his neck began, and she was so, so beautiful with darkened eyes and kissed lips.

"You're four years younger than me," he continued. He wasn't sure why he was trying to find a reason for her to leave - he knew he didn't want her to - but there was no possible way she could want to stay with him, not after what he'd done in the past.

"I'm eighteen in March, it's not that big a difference," she retorted, looking into his blue, blue eyes. "Do you not want me to stay?" she asked, starting to edge away from him.

"No!" Adam shouted, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back beside him. "No, he repeated at a smaller volume, "_I_ want you to stay, I just . . . don't understand why _you_ want to. I turned an old woman away!" he said. "I kept you prisoner - I locked up your father! Why would you possibly want to stay with me, after all I've done?" He looked down at her imploringly, searching for the answer in her bright, intelligent eyes.

"Because I love you," Belle said, placing her hand on his cheek. "And I forgive you," both thinking of when she was forced to stay, "and the past is the past. We've both learned from it, Beast - oh."

She froze.

"What?"

"I don't know your name," she said, incredulity spreading over her face. "I've lived here for three months, I love you, and I don't know your name!" She let out a little laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Adam joined her, the light tenor laugh no longer bearing any resemblance to the bass rumble he'd had before.

"Adam," he smiled down at her. "My name is Adam."

"Well, _Adam_," Belle said, testing the new name out on her tongue, "shall we go have breakfast? I am a little hungry."

"Be my guest," he replied. They walked out, hand in hand, completely, undeniably, happy.

**A/N: Y'know, when I say give me prompts, I do ****_literally_**** mean it! This came out my shipper-happy imagination, and Adam falling down the stairs is shamelessly stolen from The Green Archer, and you should definitely check her out :)**

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	12. Chapter 12 - L'Enfant

**L'Enfant**

Snow was falling swift and fast outside the window, coating the provincial countryside with a thick white blanket, weighing the branches of trees down and prompting children everywhere to run outside and create snowmen. In the Château de Campagne, Belle de Basque, new wife of the king's younger brother, sat in her favourite green sofa in the library, passive-aggressively hemming her husband's handkerchief. She was in the midst of an argument that had been lasting for four days now, and neither she nor Adam showed any sign of relenting. It was really a very simple argument, when it came down to it.

Belle wanted a baby.

It wasn't an unreasonable request - they had discussed it early on in the period between the transformation and the engagement, Adam never quite forgetting Belle's description of Gaston dictating their married life to her after rudely marching straight into her home - but whenever she asked him, Adam had always said "Not yet." After three months of this Belle had finally had enough.

"Why don't you want a baby?" she'd asked straight off the bat on Wednesday as they climbed into bed.

"Belle, do we really have to do this now?" Adam had responded pointedly.

"Yes, we do," she'd said, straightening her back so she appeared taller than him. "We've been dodging the topic since November, and I want to know what your problem is."

"I don't _have_ a problem," Adam said, turning around so sharply that for a moment his hair fell in his eyes.

"Yes you do!" Belle exclaimed. "Is the idea of having a child with me that repugnant?!"

"I do not have _any_ issue with the idea of having a child with you!" Adam nearly shouted, his face turning red.

"Oh _really_," Belle said sarcastically, tugging on the ends of her hair. "Because I haven't seen you exactly _rising_ to the occasion to try and have one since our wedding night!"

She knew that at this (unintentional) double entendre she had gone too far. Anger, hurt and the desire not to succumb to his temper raged in Adam's blue eyes, and she had swiftly jumped out their bed and ran to her old room, back when she had been a prisoner of the Beast.

Things had been tense between them ever since, but to the outside world they acted as though nothing was the matter, which somehow made things feel even worse. When Madame Armoire made good-natured jibes about how soon they'd need to be letting out her dresses, Belle hid tears of frustration behind a smile. She hadn't even confided in Mrs. Potts. There were some things, Belle reflected, that should stay between married couples.

The clock struck one, and Belle was suddenly jolted out of her reverie. She looked down at the half-finished handkerchief still in her hand, and resolutely put it away in her sewing box. She had always hated sewing, even when her mother was alive and all Belle had had to do was hem her dresses. She smiled ruefully at the memory, and in a rustle of fabric searched the bookshelves for a book - any book, really. She didn't know what to do about the baby situation, but she did know she needed to apologise for what she had said to Adam four nights ago. Absent-mindedly, she picked up a red-and-gold bound book, and flicked open to a random page.

_"Sinite parvulos venire ad me et ne prohibueritis eos: talium enim est regnum Dei,"_ it said.

"Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these," Belle murmured in a terrible approximation of an Italian accent. It was suddenly clear what she needed to do.

"Belle," she heard Adam mutter out of sight.

"Adam," she said, spinning round as he headed out the room. "No, Adam wait!" she cried, reaching out to grab his arm, the deep purple skirt of her dress swishing around her feet. "I'm sorry," she began. "I'm sorry for what I said on Wednesday, and I'm sorry for taking this argument too far, and most of all I'm sorry for continuing to ask you to do something you don't want to."

He turned around, a slight look of confusion on his face. "When did you ask me to do something I didn't want to?"

"With - ah, with -" Belle flushed. "With children," she said lamely.

"Didn't you hear me? I _do_ want to have children with you, Belle," Adam said, pulling her down next to him on the settee. "I've just been under a lot of pressure from my brother, trying to make sure no revolution is brought up, and of course you've just been so tired lately it didn't seem fair to you, and I've just been so nervous about making sure all the laws are still being upheld that it just didn't seem like the right time. Maybe later, when it's not so . . . chaotic around here was all I thought."

They sat in silence for a minute.

"It's finished snowing, by the way," the prince added.

"Do you want to have another snowball fight?" Belle asked suddenly, the mischievous child within her waking up.

"I'll give you a chance to regain your honour and win this time," he responded with a grin.

"This time? I won _last_ year, or don't you remember?"

"No, _I_ won it."

"Only because you could _literally_ cover the trees in snow if you threw hard enough!"

"Okay, okay, here's a deal. If I win this time, I am undefeated. If you win, we're one-all."

"What? That doesn't even address last years issue!"

"Race you to the garden!" Adam shouted.

"Oh, no you don't!" his wife yelled after him, the two racing out the library at top speed. "You can't win all our fights!"

**A/N: Thanks to the guest reviewer who suggested this. I don't like writing arguments between OTPs, but I still found this a good chapter to write. I do not pretend to know the contraception used by pre-20th century couples, so I went back to abstinence. **

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	13. Chapter 13 - Le Jardin

Le Jardin

"Monsieur Lecteur," Adam started, his heart in his mouth, "would you like to - to come out to the garden with me?" The stout little man looked up, an unintelligible expression on his face - or maybe that was just Adam re-adjusting into recognising human expressions.

"Of course," Maurice bumbled, getting up from the small chair he was currently perched upon and looking around for his cloak. With a stab of guilt Adam saw that he still wasn't quite steady on his feet after his illness, and he uttered a silent wish that Belle was right and her father was a forgiving man. His old battered hat stood on top of the dresser, just slightly out of Maurice's reach, and Adam hurried to get it for him.

"Please, Monsieur, don't over-exert yourself before we even go outside," Adam smiled towards the shorter man, only half-joking.

"I am perfectly fine," Maurice humphed. "I don't see why you bother so much about me, but I appreciate your concern."

As he walked towards the springtime garden, Adam found himself chewing the inside of his lip. _I used to do this,_ he remembered._ If I was in trouble, I always did this just before Father summoned me into his room. _The habit reassured him; like tapping his toes when bored and the recovery of his literacy, the little idiosyncrasies that Adam recognised from his childhood reassured him that he was, in fact, staying human. It was still a fear, a constant, niggling little worry that the Enchantress would come back in some new guise and deem him unworthy of humanity. Which was why Adam was trying his best to be the best person he could be.

The gardens had never looked better, truth be told. The prince was unsure whether it was the return of the sun, the lifting of the curse or some strange combination of the two, but the flowers seemed healthier and more beautiful than he had ever remembered them being, and when he had complimented the gardeners earlier on their hard work their chests had puffed up with pride that their prince had noticed them. Maurice sat down on a handy bench with considerable relief, despite his protestations that no, Adam did /not/ need to keep fussing around him like he was an invalid. Adam sat down next to him, attacking his inner lip rather violently and twiddling his thumbs, unsure how to bring up the subject of an apology without violently embarrassing himself any more than he knew he would, when Maurice sighed heavily. It was a contented sigh, the sigh of a man who was at peace with the world.

"My wife would have loved this garden," he said after a pause. "When we lived in Alsace, we had this tiny little kitchen garden out back - shared with the other three tenants of the house, as well - but it was always filled with herbs. Basil, parsley, rosemary and thyme, sage . . . it always smelled lovely there." Maurice's brown eyes, so like his daughter's, looked out not onto the wonderful gardens in the Château, but the minuscule plot he and his wife had been so happy with. "When Celine became with child, we were so happy. She planted lavender everywhere, sang all the time. When she died, it was . . . hard to see Belle. She looks so like her."

The old man turned to face Adam. "Let me ask you: do you love my daughter?"

"With all my heart," he replied without a moments hesitation.

"Good," Maurice huffed. "I'm not sure where you came from, but Belle tells me she loves you full as much as you love her."

"About that, Monsieur -" Adam started, but the inventor cut him off.

"I don't know, and I don't _want_ to know," he said, an authoritarian air coming over him. "Three months ago I was held prisoner by a monstrous beast. If that beast learned the error of his ways and truly loves my daughter, I see no reason to hold a grudge against him. I am an old man, sir, and if you love her half as much as I loved Celine, I will be perfectly satisfied."

"Thank you, Monsieur," Adam stuttered. They sat in comfortable silence for a minute. "Monsieur?"

"Yes?"

"Would you be opposed to me marrying your daughter?" His teeth broke the tender skin inside his lip, and Adam tasted his metallic blood.

"No, my boy," Maurice chuckled, patting Adam's shoulder, "I wouldn't be opposed at all. And please, call me Maurice."

"Thank you . . . Maurice."

"It's quite alright, boy. Quite alright."

**A/N: INSPIRATION (TEMPORARILY) RETURNS! I just knew I had to include this at some point, so here it is!  
Come join me on my tumblr, its-spelled-with-an-a-moron !  
Send me prompts via reviews or PM!  
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	14. Chapter 14 - A Bout of Flu

**A Bout of Flu**

Another watery cough echoed out the large bundle of blankets huddled in front of the fireplace as Adam walked in. From his height he could see the top of Belle's head, and as he arranged his long legs comfortably on the floor beside her he noticed that her eyes were red-rimmed, her face was pale and her nose was beginning to chafe from blowing it so often. She inclined her head, attempting to rest it on his shoulder, but over-balanced, her whole body bumping into her husband's left arm. A defeated whimper could be heard from the mountain of hair and cloth.

"I think you might have more than _just_ a cold, _mon amour_," Adam murmured.

"You think?" she croaked. "I feel horrible, I hope Clarisse doesn't catch this."

"Don't worry; Mrs. Potts is sure it isn't contagious, but she's been sent off to Charming and Elle anyway."

Ever the worrying mother, Belle visibly relaxed at the news that her daughter would be safely out of harms way. Clarisse had been born shortly after that terrible fight Belle and Adam had had in the January of the year of her birth. Starting off life as a blonde-haired, blue-eyed baby, she had quickly darkened to her fathers red hair and her mothers deep brown doe-eyes. For a royal family Adam and Belle were unusually involved in their daughters daily life, even given the live-in nanny that was hired, but they both agreed Clarisse was a special exception to nearly every rule written in the book of royalty. Not so the book of parenting. Even though she was only two and a half, Clarisse was an extremely mischievous child, and had already mortally offended Cogsworth on numerous occasions, only being pardoned each time after appearing in tears holding a little bouquet of wildflowers that everyone knew (though it was never confessed) that Cogsworth kept in his room for weeks after they died. Clarisse was kind, generous, mischievous and unusually stubborn for a two-year-old, and the whole castle was in love with her.

"It's good that she's with her uncle," Belle coughed. "Maybe Jean-Paul will be able to teach her some manners."

"Jean-Paul! _Mon amour_," Adam said in surprise, "Jean-Paul can no more control his cousin than I can stop you investigating every little mystery there is to be solved."

"I am _not_ that bad," Belle protested, struggling to a sitting position through her cocoon of warmth.

"Yes you are!" Adam laughed, wrapping his arms around her in an imprisoning bear-hug. "You _always_ find your birthday presents, you can't _abide_ it whenever someone knows something they aren't telling you, and on the first night we met you snuck into the West Wing behind my back!"

"You are _never_ going to get over that, are you?" Belle muttered against her husband's chest.

"Nope!" Adam smiled cheerfully before kissing her forehead gently. "Besides, I'm sure Clarisse will be good as gold for her uncle and cousin if she's asked nicely."

"There's hoping," Belle grumbled, before a series of heavy coughs racked her body. She whimpered again, tears pinpricking her eyes.

"Oh, _mon amour_, you really are ill, aren't you?" Adam sighed, cradling his little wife between his arms. "I know you hate it," he said, stroking her flushed cheek, "but there's nothing we can do. The doctor said we'd just have to wait until virus leaves you."

"Of course _I_ had to be the first person in the castle to catch this wretched bug," Belle uncharacteristically grumbled. "I'm hardly ever ill, and when I am, it's always, _always_ horrible. I can't even keep my head up enough to read to distract myself," she finished.

"I'm sorry, Adam," Belle said after a minute, her voice muffled again from the slipping blankets. "I'm being horrible, complaining to you and just making this unpleasant. You don't have to stay."

"Excuse _me_," Adam said in mock horror, "I will stay as long as I want, because you are my wife," he said with a kiss to her hair, "and you are ill," another kiss, this time to her forehead, "and I love you, and I would stay even if you were being ten times as unpleasant as you say you're being." This time he leaned down and kissed her gently on the mouth, lips moving in tandem with hers. It was a lovely moment, until Belle took the opportunity to sneeze into his mouth.

"It's a good thing I've already had this bug before, otherwise I'd be severely struck down because of _you_, _mon amour_." he joked.

"Hush," Belle said, snuggling closer to him. "My head is kind of hurting again; is there anything to read?"

"Um . . . I think there's a Shakespeare lurking somewhere around here," Adam said, carefully getting up to ensure he didn't cause Belle any more discomfort than she was already going through. "We have . . . the ever-popular 'Romeo and Juliet'." Belle made a face.

"I'm not really in the mood for tragedy today," she explained.

"Alright," Adam replied, running his fingers over book spines to better see the titles. "Well, you're in luck today, because we have three comedies stuck back here from the last time we were in this room." He turned back to his wife. "We have . . . 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', 'The Taming of the Shrew' and 'Twelfth Night'."

"I think Taming of the Shrew sounds good today," Belle smiled, only to sneeze violently moments later.

"Oh, _mon amour_, _mon amour_," Adam cooed as he sat down beside her. "Let's begin. _'I'll pheeze you, in faith! A pair of stocks, you rogue!..._"

**A/N: Thanks to guest reviewer Ally b for suggesting this! I do like writing ill couples, even if just to have ridiculous amounts of fluff. And if Clarisse grows up to marry a certain Prince of Genovia... who am I to stop it? ( Are Princess Diaries/Disney crossovers even a thing? I can totally see them being a thing.)**

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	15. Chapter 15 - Scars

**Scars**

**A/N: This story includes descriptions of a PTSD suffer and some mild hunting gore. If you don't want to read this, there is no problem :). **

The first time it happens, Adam assumes it was just a bad dream.

He's running through the forest, racing and leaping over the fallen tree branches. He's in search of prey, of something to eat, of animal bones to snap between his strong canines and the taste of raw meat to appease the lion in him, but also _more_. He's in search of the thrill of the chase, the slight uncertainty about whether or not he'll catch something based on beastly instincts alone, the distinct and natural way he can differentiate between hundreds of species by smell alone, how the black and white of trees and snow doesn't matter as long as he can see the shapes. The way his body is _swift_ and _fast_ and overall _strong_, how the muscles move as he pounces, how his chest echoes as he roars through the empty trees. And as he roars, the wolves arrive. An endless sea of wolves, biting at him, kicking him, trying to tear him apart, trying to kill the Beast, until finally one manages to rip out his side -

Adam shoots up in bed, breathing heavily. His human hands shoot up to cover his human face, as Adam runs his hands over each familiar feature, trying to calm his heady breathing. He frantically touches his thrice-broken nose, his high forehead, the delicate skin of his eyelids, before concentrating on the hands themselves - five fingers, wide palms, narrowing to wrists before the lineage swells out to his forearms. _I am human, _he reminds himself. _The spell was broken. I am human._ As he sinks back down to his bed, he absent-mindedly strokes the three long scars he received from the wolves the night Belle arrived at the castle, the bumpy scar tissue oddly all that physically remained of the Beast after the transformation.

And he's sure he can feel the slightest amount of blood.

* * *

The second time he remembers any specifics, it's in the carriage on the way to Paris for the King's funeral.

The Beast runs away from the Château de Campagne. It's not the first time he's left the grounds, but he doesn't care for it - after a while the wolves inevitably come and take him back, mainly through force, so consequently he stays inside the castle most days. But today he needs to get out, to be free, free from all the frightened, expectant looks the moronic little clock and candlestick and teapot give him all the time when they expect him to deny his nature. So he runs. His paws hit the ground in rhythm, and he huffs the cold air out through his monstrous face, and he tries to silence the shrill little cry he can't stop hearing inside his head. The Beast is tired of hearing the child he once was scream every time he does something animalistic, but a screaming boy is still better than leaving his hunger for killing, for meat, for the weight of a juicy meal, even just plain _hunger_ unsatisfied. So he runs. And then suddenly he's on the edge of a cliff and his claws aren't strong enough to hold him up and he has the weight of another man on his back and then he's falling, falling, fall-

Adam jumps as the carriage goes over a bump in the road. He grips his arm hard enough to leave bruises, as he glances up to check Charmant is still asleep. The older man's chest rises and falls steadily, blissfully unaware of any night terrors, while his younger brother struggles to slow down his breath enough to actually take in air. Adam closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against the polished wood interior alongside the discomfort of his dry mouth. Twice he has remembered dreaming about the Beast, but many more times has he woken up in a cold sweat, or falling out of bed. _What's wrong with me? Why do I keep thinking about that time? It's over now - I shouldn't be thinking about it._

_If only it were that easy, _a smaller, quieter part of his consciousness admits.

* * *

The dreams plague him, on and off, for mostly a year. At least once a week, Adam invariably wakes up shaking with fear. Often, he wakes falling out the bed, which doesn't help if the nightmares involve a particular balcony outside the West Wing. Once, he wakes up with a shout.  
There is nothing particularly startling about the dream he can remember at first, nothing that makes it anything out of the ordinary. But after thinking on it for a while, Adam realises the terror hidden in it. The wolf that usually bites him in the side, instead of having a jet black coat and icy blue eyes, has plain brown fur and large, dark eyes flaked with gold.

Belle's eyes.

After his subconsciousness does this, after it takes the person he loves the most and uses her as a weapon against himself, Adam tries not to sleep at night. It doesn't matter that the nightmares come for him anyway, or that all his insomnia achieves is severe exhaustion during the day (and, perhaps, some more familiarity with the contents of the castle library); all he knows is that the darkness he once cloaked himself in as if it was a much-loved childhood blanket has turned rebel against him, and he prays that Belle doesn't find out his secret. There is nothing inherently awful in it, and he knows Belle would well understand recurring nightmares about traumatic experiences, but still, still he hesitates. Because it's not _just_ the dreams that are the problem, Adam muses. It's the fear. The constant niggling worry that he will offend the Enchantress somehow once again and be deemed unworthy of his humanity. And in that process, lose Belle.

He manages to keep it hidden well, until the morning after their wedding. Then, in the midst of the wolves surrounding and threatening him, he is shaken, and then he is no longer four legged and holding a bleeding carcass in his mouth but half-naked in bed wrapping his very human arms tightly around Belle, as he waits for his heart to slow and she comfortingly brushes over the scars on his left arm. He presses kisses to her hair and once, gently, she kisses his shoulder.

The nightmares return later. They always do. But now, at least, he has someone to share them with.

**A/N: Well, HELLO! I'm very sorry I've been away so long, but all my notification emails for here somehow went into my junk mail, so that is the reason I've abandoned you for the past month. **

**The idea for this came (briefly) from Laceup23, who suggested something about when Adam was the Beast :) **

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	16. Chapter 16 - Winter Wonderland

**Winter Wonderland**

"Papa?"

Adam de Basque turned from the small mountain of paperwork Cogsworth had given him this morning, massaging the small crick in his neck, to see the stubbornly hopeful face of Clarisse Therêse, his oldest child, holding a small pair of ice skates in her hand. Her flaming red hair, several shades lighter than his own, was painstakingly pinned up out of her face, and she had already changed into her dark blue winter cloak, lined with lambs wool.

"Papa, it's finished snowing," she announced, "and you promised that once it had finished snowing you would take me outside and teach me to skate." She blinked a couple of times, as if re-enforcing the statement, although Adam also suspected it was because she already knew at the tender age of nine that her deep brown eyes, so like her mother's, were capable of great influence.

"So I did, Clarisse," Adam agreed, "so I did, but I need to finish sorting out these taxes Cogsworth gave me this morning. It won't take long, and I'll come out with you as soon as they're done, alright?" The decline, far from bringing his daughter down, merely seemed to stiffen her resolve, and she chewed on her lip contemplatively as Adam picked up the quill again.

"Mama says that everybody needs a break from doing work on paper after an hour," Clarisse piped up again after a minute.

"Mama is very wise," Adam said, "but I really do need to get this done, and it won't take much longer. It definitely won't take an hour." This was a blatant lie, and Clarisse could tell, but once again her father's attention was on the pieces of paper, and he'd _promised_ to take her out. She decided to try one last time.

"Papa?"

"Yes, Clarisse?" Adam asked with barely concealed irritation.

"Would the taxes be done quicker if I helped you? _You_ said divide and conquer was the best strateg-eg-gy," Clarisse argued, stumbling slightly over the word, "and I've gotten much better at numbers since you last saw me."

Adam sighed in resignation. His daughter was as stubborn as he was, as both parents had learned from bitter experience - and besides, getting Clarisse more involved in the mechanics of the throne could hardly be a bad thing. He pushed back his chair slightly and patted his knee, and with a sparkling smile the redhead clambered up, settling herself quickly with crossed hands, before looking at Adam for guidance.

"I can get the boring things done if you let me know when I'm running out of ink, or I've put a number in the wrong column, alright?" he said, poking her gently in the stomach.

"Alright, papa!" Clarisse smiled, and the two set to work, Adam writing and Clarisse mumbling a song quietly. In next to no time the paperwork was finished, and the girl bounced around the floor, begging, "Can we go now, papa? Please can we go now? It won't be long before it starts to snow again and you _promised_ you'd teach me!"

"Yes, Clarisse, yes, we're going right now, I just need to find my skates!" Adam laughed, as he swung his little girl effortlessly over his shoulders and ran down the stairs, Clarisse shrieking with laughter. Ten short minutes later, they were outside in the bitter cold, at the lake where Belle had skated with him the very first Christmas they spent together, back when he was still the Beast.

"Now, you have to be careful, Clarisse," he started. "If you go too fast, you'll fall straight over, and we don't want that, do we?" He grinned at her, and she grinned back. Adam pulled his daughter up by her hands from the bank she was sitting on, and slowly guided her along. "Feet a bit closer together," he instructed, and obediently Clarisse moved so they were shoulder width apart. A small peal of laughter emerged, and as Adam continued skating backwards, deftly turning so he didn't crash into the bank, Clarisse's confidence grew, so much that when she spotted Belle walking towards them with Louis beside her, Clarisse felt safe enough to lift an arm and wave at her mother and little brother.

On an impulse, Adam lifted his daughter up and spun her in the air, like she often begged him to do if they danced, turning on the spot so that both their cloaks billowed out in the air. He put her down gently, and the rosiness of her cheeks almost matched the colour of her hair. Belle applauded, smacking her gloves together, as Louis laughed insensibly and Clarisse begged, "Again, papa, again!"

"Don't you want to help Louis learn as well?" he asked.

"I thought you said you wanted to wait until he was nine as well?" Clarisse pouted.

"I did," Adam admitted, "but I think you're such a good teacher you could help him right away. Just be careful and don't go too fast with him!" he called out as she glided to the other side of the lake.  
Adam slipped back into his normal shoes as Belle trudged around to meet him at the bench.

"Did you actually get the paperwork finished?" she asked only half-teasingly.

"No, but I can always do it later," Adam admitted. "This, on the other hand, only happens a few times before they tire of us."

"Isn't it true?" Belle mused. "Luckily that won't happen for another few years, if we're lucky," she smiled brightly. "Especially since this family is still growing."

It took Adam a minute to realise what his wife had just said. "You mean -"

"Yes," she grinned, wildly entertained by the look of astonishment on her husband's face. "We're having another baby."

"I guess winter really is the best time of year for us," Adam spluttered, a distracted grin on his face.

"Seems like it," Belle rejoined. "Now, come on. If Clarisse spins Louis around any more he's going to be sick."

**A/N: This is a combination of So-crates Johnson, who suggested a fic with Clarisse in it, and the guest reviewer from ages ago who suggested a snowball fight scene :)**

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